Camino Journal Day 5
A Basque Country trail marker
April 6
Out of nowhere I’m jolted awake by some deep and very intense snoring. When I laid down, there was no one on either side of me. Proximity does affect the intensity of the snoring. Some albergues have even started putting up partition boards like little cubbies. Heiko is sleeping deeply to one side of me with the wall and open window to the other. His intermitted breath is deep, and every so often he stops breathing. I think it’s called sleep apnea. I was so angry with his snoring and choosing to sleep right next to me, out of the countless options he had available, including an entire other room with no one in it, that I was completely befuddled. I quietly got my earbuds back out and going. I tried listening to some devotional stuff, some music, an audiobook and some YouTube videos. I even watch half a movie. Heiko wouldn’t stop snoring. We’d all drank a little bit at our communal dinner. The drinking makes snoring worse and much more profound.
The thing is, as I laid there and listened to Heiko stop breathing, I would rush to try and sleep before he started up again. We all know rushing to try and sleep is the last way to get off to dream land, and so when the snoring would start back up after a gasping of air, I couldn’t stop focusing on it. The sleep apnea is so scary that at first, after nearly a minute of not breathing, I thought of waking Heiko up. I thought even maybe the person on the other side of him would be worried enough to wake him up as well. Sometimes I really thought he might die, and then terrible feelings came over me as my need for sleep trumped all logic and I started almost wishing anything would happen that would quiet the room for just 5 minutes.
Normally the rules and regulations of an albergue are very strict, and sometimes they even have someone who stays awake and makes sure nothing out of the ordinary goes on. The vigilance isn’t intruding at all, but a necessity for the locals and hosteleros who make the journey possible for so many strangers every year. Some people live on the trail, gypsy hobos who manipulate and steal. They are not many, but it’s unfortunate. But due to the covid, and this particular albergue being closed and only opening on special need to us 10 or so pilgrims, I decided to chance it.
I grabbed up by pack and all my belongings and moved them to the common room where the fireplace was. This would put two doors between me and the snoring man, and since there was only just a small couch in the common room with a large table for the backpacks, I knew if I waited any longer to make my move, someone else would, and I’d be forced to suffer a sleepless night.
Photo Collage from Heiko
The small couch was nothing compared to the decent bunks you find in most every albergue, but at least it was quiet. The fire was still going just a little and so I added enough wood to get to the morning and fired it back up again. I rolled a spliff, and since some of the smoke from the fire was coming into the building, I figured a little more wouldn’t hurt and smoked it right there on the couch. I stood up periodically to make sure the fire was getting going, I was looking forward to my first night of warm sleep since I arrived. I paced the room, read the titles on the bookshelf over and over and in succession each time I arrived in front of them before turning around and walking to the other end of the room again.
I checked the coffee machine. I was able to secure a pod for my morning coffee (since the bar was temporarily closed for renovations), but upon studying the machine for a minute, I realized I hadn’t got the correct pod for this machine. I wouldn’t have any morning coffee after all. From where I was to the next city, Markina, was about 18 miles. There wouldn’t be too many services between here an there. I was a little bummed out and pictured myself adapting the pod like MacGyver, but that was probably the pot talking.
I put on a series from Amazon Prime on my phone and watch an episode of Outer Range while smoking another spliff and falling asleep for a few hours. It was around 1am when I finally dozed off. At about 4am I was awake again. I had to pee. Finally, my body was adjusting to the new routine. I went outside and smoked the rest of the spliff I hadn’t finished when drifting off to dream land and took my pee. The night was cold and clear. The stars were so clear out above the tree line. The view of the valley and the cascading mountains were made visible in a moon light creating silhouettes seeming to go on as far as the eye could see. The two pigs were snoring too. I laughed out loud and went back in.
The fire still had a small ember of hot coals and so I added some paper and more kindlin to try and get a morning fire going. I figured everyone would be so happy to wake to a warm room, but alas the fire didn’t light again, and I dozed off for another 30 minutes. Around 5am, Johnny came out looking sleepy and confused, and also a bit disappointed. I asked if he was already leaving out, and he replied that he’d come to try and catch a couple hours sleep on the couch out here. I laughed and he laughed. “It’s that bad, huh?” I asked. He laughed again and gestured to signal that if it wasn’t that bad then why was I already out here on the couch.
I got up and joined him for some of his Pepsi Zero. Johnny doesn’t drink water really, I don’t know if I saw him drink even one glass of it, but he always has a couple liters of Pepsi Zero on him. I was thankful this morning for it, as now at least I’d have a little caffeine to start the day. We sip our soda and step out into the morning air for a smoke. Johnny is smoking Lucky Strikes. He said they didn’t have his brand when he arrived, so he tried these. I noted that’s a tuff tobacco and suggested he try Pueblo Azul, if he didn’t mind rolling his own. I was on pace to smoke about 30 grams of tobacco this first week, which equivalent to about a pack and a half or 30 cigarettes. Johnny said he smoked around 10 cigarettes a day back home, but with the hanging out at the plazas and socializing, he’d been smoking 15 or so.
There was left over pasta and some cheese and other stuff from our dinner the night, so I picked at it and Johnny invited me to a couple of his chocolate creme filled muffins, which made for a solid breakfast. As the other pilgrims began to awake around 6am, the albergue was bustling with movement in a communal attempt to warm up. Outside the sleeping bags and out from underneath the woolen blankets awaited a cold mountain morning of around 33 degrees F and 18 miles of hilly up-and-down-terrain, with the final descent of 500 meters, a real doozy known to all as rompe-rodillas, or knee-breaker. I wanted to challenge myself today and get out in front of the group. It was difficult to secure lodging for such a large Camino family and I felt I was missing some opportunities that were uniquely mine by involving myself so much with a large group of hikers.
When you group up past 2 or maybe three, you isolate yourself again. Some people love this, and I guess I’d say, most people enjoy this as Camino families form in the first days and they last the entire trip. Other people are super solo walkers, and only interact with others at the albergues. Even other pilgrims never interact with anyone at all, choosing to pre-plan their stops and lodging in private establishments out of the eyes of the many other pilgrims walking the trail. If seen on the trail a simple stare and, “Buen Camino” are shared between them and the other. There is no one way to walk the Camino after all.
View from trail
But what I’m saying is the reason to go alone to the Camino is so you are totally open to the changes that are coming ahead. Being there without your baggage or the prying eyes of an intimate loved one is the best way to allow yourself to easily go in the direction the Camino guides you. The same weighing down can happen when meeting others along the way. Everyone on the Camino is looking for something, dealing with a problem, attempting to move to another level, seeking peace, evading judgement, and changing who they are. Everyone has tendencies and behaviors they are trying to modify. All our little monsters travel the way with us and as we start to notice them through our steps, we cling to others and attempt to nestle the behaviors with in daily activities, once more allowing them to live and influence the way we act. As we get comfortable with someone, we use their trust to allow these little monsters to gain more space and influence over the external world. One of my little monsters was a helper monster.
The helper monster is prim and proper, nice and cheery and male version of Mary Poppins, if you will, and his one and only desire is to help others with any and all situations whether he is needed and asked for or not. The real job of this little helper monster is to distract me from myself. It’s really the minion of my deeper traumas and allows the other negative thoughts and behaviors space to manifest themselves.
I had my pack ready to go as the other pilgrims were attempting to figure out the coffee machine I’d investigated the night before. I could have just left out by myself, but again I paced around, got into everyone’s business as if I was a mother hen making sure all her chicks were getting along alright. A young German guy stood stupefied in front of the coffee machine, eyes crusty with sleep, and he could not figure out how to do it. I muttered something about him having the wrong pod, and he said, “No, it’s the right one. I just don’t know where to put the water.” At this slightest invitation, my little helper monster goes to work. I should have been a kilometer down the road enjoying the sunset and a nice spliff on an overlook somewhere, but here I was helping a perfectly capable and confident human being with a task I was not needed for and from which I would not benefit.
In my attempt to help this man get his coffee we lost the pod into the machine without it ever cooking anything up. I felt like a total ass. It wasn’t my problem, and now I was to blame for him not having morning coffee for the next 10 miles as well. “Stupid fucking Texas guy,” I imagine him saying to a group of other pilgrims later around the table somewhere over beers. I felt like La Boeuf from True Grit. My eyes glanced past the machine and on the wall, almost hidden out of sight was a sign that said, “Calm down and stop talking”.
View from the trail between Itzarbide and Markina
I fumbled my way out of the situation, saying something about buying the guy a coffee when I saw him at the next town, and worked my way out the door to the patio. I decided I’d smoke one more spliff and enjoy what was left of the sunrise before getting going. My flannel was starting to stink and had the white outlines of yesterday’s sweat scorching across the pattern. I was down to my last couple pairs of socks, as I’d been changing them mid-day and letting my feet dry out when I’d take my second break. Still no blisters. I was also wearing my last clean shirt and the others sat semi-dry in the dirty-clothes-bag at the bottom of my pack. Today would be a laundry day after we arrived to Markina
I wanted to make some time and remembered that I’d brought with me four 30mg Adderall. I buy them from a friend and keep them in my car for those long nights on the road while touring. I didn’t think I’d get in trouble for having them, but it was still a risk to take them on the plane. I hadn’t eaten any since I got to Spain as they severely dehydrate you. I take in 1/8 of a pill washing it down with my last sip of Pepsi Zero and figured that would help me get along. It was crazy to think that kids took 30mg and sometimes more per day. If I took a half of pill, I would be skitzing and thinking my heart was about to explode. I just nibble on them like a hamster at a salt lick. The high isn’t as noticeable, like smoking a joint, but the extra energy and focus are definitely there.
I fill my 1.5 liter water bottle and start up the hill. There would be a 250m climb to start the day. I found a nice rhythm right away and was off tearing through the trails. I was having fun. I enjoyed the freedom of being alone. The way the trees seemed to reach out and take you in. Each little animal and insect glared at me with their all-knowing eyes, I raced on.
On the way to Markina
At the top of the mountain, it was cold and foggy, almost misty and I had all my layers on, plus my gloves, scarf and bandana. As they say in Spain, I went walking like an onion. Underneath all my layers were ever more soaked shirts. My body was a furnace and I’d already drank, refilled and drank my 1.5 liter bottle of water. I felt good. I looked forward to the sunshine that I knew was waiting for me in the valley and kept a good pace to the first bar I came to.
They say when you have good weather that the apostle is walking with you. I like to think my mood could affect the weather. Like a Charlie Brown rain cloud following the negative thinkers and clearing anytime a good thought comes in. It’s like a dark room with a light switch. The light switch is flicked anytime a good thought comes in and scares the darkness back to the void from which it came. But as the negative thoughts come back, so does the darkness, so do the rain clouds. By 1pm I’d already walked around 5 hours and had covered the majority of the stage.
I come cruising into Markina with ease and delight, refreshed to see a few bars and a plaza. Something familiar strikes me and I know I’ve been here before. There is always life in the Spanish plaza. Children, moms, grandparents, workers, teenagers and all who pass through the city go to and through the plaza. It’s amazing. I sit for a quick smoke and drink what’s left of my water and people watch and wonder how far back everyone is. I guess the legal speed did the trick, I’m feeling fantastic. I’m in Markina.
My first four days on the trail are a noticeable difference to my daily life back in Texas. On average at home, I walk a little over 5,000 steps a day.
My phone has run out of battery, so I find a bar to plug in my phone. I order a Hilda and a small chorizo and a beer and wait while it charges. I think on the question I keep getting from other pilgrims, “Why did you choose to do the same Camino twice,” and I start to realize how unique that really is. Maybe that’s the real reason I did it. To be different and to stand out. You meet a lot of people who have done even up to 10 or more Caminos, but rarely someone who is doing the same one back to back. I think now that I will just only and always do the North Camino.
Hilda - Anchovy, Pepperchini, and olive
Zurito (Small beer) and Chorizo Pincho
I feel like there is some sort of ethereal residue locked in the places. A specter version of a past self. A trail gives you an isolated area of where you might have been and walking the same trail and going to the same places, I start to get a sense of who I am and who I used to be. I can feel not only myself from three years ago, but the countless travelers who have walked this path. I’ll catch a glimpse of something of a color and an angle of a bar top and bam, I can see and feel my old self right there. It’s nice to think of who he was, the good behaviors I still have, his courage and charm, tenacity and resilience. His open mindedness and kindness and willingness to engage with others. It’s also great to notice the things I’ve lost from him.
I tell the bartender I was here before. He says, “Oh yea!” and brushes it off. I tell him they introduced me to Nicola Di Bari when I was here last time. The songs Gypsy Heart and I Know I Drink, I Know I Smoke. The barman brightens up. The place has an air of mobster, real gruff guys, but with nice stained-glass windows and all wood decor. The owner guy comes out and I give him a couple stickers and my card. He goes and plays some Nicola Di Bari on Spotify, and we have a laugh. The hostel at Markina opens up at 4pm and so I get checked in and squared away.
Again, I notice I have been here before and hope to see the same hostelero who I’d met in 2019. Sure, enough it was him and we laughed as I played him some Pink Floyd in the common room while waiting for the others to get settled in the albergue. We’d agreed to combine our clothes and go to the coin operated laundry mat. It would cost about 10 euro to wash and dry. There was no way the clothes would dry if we hung them up in the albergue. The Markina municipal is an old convent for nuns, the upper floor closed off and so obviously haunted. The thick stone walls don’t allow very good cell reception and also hold the temperature very well. There was no heater again and the walls seemed to repel any lasting effects of the sunshine.
While sipping a Coca-Cola, eating some kikos and smoking a spliff, I play some Tom Petty songs while sitting on a bench just outside the albergue. Some people stop and a couple even comes over and drops a 2-euro coin on my case. I thank her and smile. Why wasn’t I busking as much? The truth was I was tired. I’d been gigging for my life, especially since the pandemic and shut down. I kept getting busier and busier until I was completely booked and working 6 nights a week constantly. It’s amazing to have that much work and especially to be in music. I was grateful that I had made the money to pay for this trip on my shows. I saved a little bit every show since 2019 for this repeat journey. I didn’t have to busk. I could just relax and enjoy the ride.
I see Mira and Toni approaching the albergue. Toni the dog is limping, and they look tired. These last days have been tough. I too am looking forward to a day of rest. Mira tells us all, “You will not see Toni tonight. He will only sleep.” The albergue gave Toni and his dog a private room, assuredly a blessing for them both.
Coca-cola and Kikos - One of my go-to snacks in Spain.
Walking alone for most of the day was great and I was happy to see the group again. Everyone had made it, including Suzanne, who I still had my doubts about. I took my guitar out to dinner and songs were sang, siders were drunk and merriment was had by all. Mira also played guitar and sang and played a few in Czech.
At dinner we had the pilgrim’s menu. A Spanish menu is the way to go if you can afford around 10 to 15 euro. It comes with 3 courses and wine. The menus are the best way to get home cooking, but sometimes the pilgrims’ menus can be a little careless and sloppily put together. The big meal in Spain is the lunch meal and although there are dinner menus, for Spanish people, most of them eat at home or very lightly for the latter parts of the day. Eating a big meal at 5 or 6 pm is absurd to the Spanish. They will never understand it and many of them take great joy in pointing this out. I for one am in favor of the Spanish schedule. Which is something like this:
8am Awake and have coffee and small breakfast and work
1030am First break. Have another coffee (or beer or brandy) and a pincho
2pm Off work and go to Big Meal of the day (lunch)
3pm Siesta
4pm Watch news or continue siesta
5pm Shops open back up (another coffee) and back to work
8pm Off work
9pm Light meal - Dinner
10pm TV and relaxing (night cap)
11 or midnight (sleep)
You can see how trying to have dinner at 5 just doesn’t work in this schedule. I’ll always laugh fondly on the times when I had a Spanish girlfriend and I’d suggest going out to eat at these times. She’d look on me with horror and wonder who might see her attempting to eat at such odd hours.
The way to do it is get to the bar around 7 or so and have drinks and smoke on the patio. That’s what we did. Then go into the comedor when they begin to serve the menu around 8:30, but sometimes earlier. Micha, Johnny and I do our laundry while we are on the patio. Since they paid, I walked back and forth to put them in the dryer and then again to fetch and fold them. I felt this was equal trade and not my little helper monster. The saying goes, “I’ll buy if you fly.” So, I did the duty of the one who didn’t pay.
Siders with Heiko and Johnny
At dinner, I order the fish soup and a Spanish version of chicken fried steak (ternera) with potatoes. For dessert I had homemade flan and as we finished off the bottle of wine, our time to return to the albergue was fast approaching. Lights were out at 10pm and the entry was locked at 10:15p. I stood outside in the cool air enjoying my alcohol buzz and one last spliff before entering.
When I laid down, I realized my body and skin were incredibly hot. I went to the bathroom to put some cool water on my face, and mind you it’s still down to almost freezing outside. I encounter Suzanne in the hallway, and she points out that she and I were the only two to eat the fish soup. I ate about two servings of it too! Something in there was making us both extremely hot. She being middle aged was relieved to be able to deduce what was causing her hot flashes. I laughed to myself and finally got to sleep in nothing but my underwear. I slept outside the blanket and sleeping bag for most of the night, finally waking in the wee hours of the morning almost freezing to death. I crawled inside my bag and slept a couple more hours.
A photo collage Heiko sent over to the Camino family via WhatsApp
From left to right: Heiko, Micha, Johnny, Suzanne, Mira, and Me